


Too Late for Tears

by IJM



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23238352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IJM/pseuds/IJM
Summary: My own mother is in hospice care, so someone's parent had to die.
Relationships: Franco Baldwin/Elizabeth Webber Baldwin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17





	Too Late for Tears

**Author's Note:**

> For entertainment purposes only.  
> No claim of ownership of characters.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Elizabeth Baldwin touched her cell phone’s screen to end the short conversation she had with her sister Sarah Webber. She was in her kitchen with her husband as they cleaned up after their evening meal. She took a deep breath before sticking her phone into her pocket and turned towards the table to wipe it down with a cleanser.

Franco approached her, drying his hands on a towel after he rinsed the last of the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. He reached out, and though her back was to him, he wrapped her in a hug. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his mouth next to her ear.

Elizabeth started to answer, “Nothing,” but she hesitated. She left her bottle and towel on the table and turned around to face her husband. “My father killed himself.”

Franco shook his head slightly. “What?” He was shocked. “What happened?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Sarah said he left a note. He got diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and he said he was making the decision to die while he still could make his own decisions.”

“I’m so sorry,” Franco told her, pulling her closer. “Are you okay?”

Elizabeth pulled away from him. She shrugged. “I fine.”

Franco found this difficult to believe. “Your father committed suicide. How can you be _fine_?”

“My father who hasn’t been around for twenty-five years. My father who has never met his grandchildren. My father who ignored me when I was raped, when I’ve been sick, when I’ve been injured, when I’ve gotten married, or divorced, or remarried. He didn’t show up when we thought Jake died or when Jake came back. He didn’t show up when we thought Lucky died in a fire. He didn’t help me when you were stabbed or thought you were Drew. He hasn’t called Cameron to see if he’s okay after being kidnapped twice in the last few months.” She walked to their living room and sat on the couch. Franco followed her.

She exhaled and shrugged one shoulder. “Am I supposed to muster up some emotion for a man who abandoned me? Who abandoned his grandchildren? They don’t even know him. I’m not sure he remembers their names.” She looked straight ahead, not at her husband.

“I’ve never met your father. I don’t understand him or why he’s never been there for you. But he’s still _your father_. Didn’t you love him when you were a kid?”

“That was a long time ago,” she answered. Her tone was sharp.

“Okay,” he said, taking her hand. “Whatever you need—whatever you’re feeling—I’m here for you.”

She looked down. “Well, that puts you light years ahead of Jeff Webber.” She pulled away. “I’m going to shower.”

Franco nodded. Elizabeth needed to be alone right now and sometimes the shower was the only place one could find some time and space to be alone in this house.

He listened carefully. When he could hear the faint sound of the shower, he called his father, Scotty Baldwin.

“Kind of late, son,” Scotty answered the phone without a greeting.

“Elizabeth’s father killed himself,” Franco replied, also skipping a greeting.

“Wait, what?” Scotty sat up in his bed and shushed his female companion. He reached for his lamp to turn it on and then for his glasses. “Jeff Webber killed himself?”

“That’s the one,” Franco answered.

“How is Elizabeth?”

“Strangely nonreactive. She wanted to be alone. She’s taking a shower. I asked if she was okay and she told me how Jeff has been absent during pretty much every significant event in her life. He hasn’t talked to her in years. He hasn’t even seen her in decades. Do you think it’s normal that she isn’t affected very much?”

“She’s _your_ wife. You tell me.”

“I don’t know anything about normal relationships,” Franco reminded him. “Aren’t you supposed to be sad if your parents die? Elizabeth has such a big heart. I don’t understand how it’s not breaking over her father’s death.”

“Maybe he broke it already. Maybe Jeff Webber doesn’t deserve Elizabeth’s tears,” Scotty suggested. “Just love her through it, like you always do.”

“Should I arrange for us to fly out for the funeral? Do I need to take the reigns here and be proactive to help her?”

“I don’t think you should book any flights until you talk to your wife. I know you want to help, and you tend to do everything in extremes, but let Elizabeth decide if she wants to go to the funeral. Don’t pressure her. I’ll tell Monica and a few other people still in town who might care that he’s dead.”

“Like Heather?” Franco suggested boldly. “You know she has refused to see me since I started asking questions about Drew.”

Scotty made a disgusted sigh. “Fine. I’ll make sure Heather finds out too. God knows if she doesn’t hear it from one of us, she’ll break out and take vengeance on the world.”

“Thanks, Pops.” Franco told his father. “By the way, I’d be upset if you died, so don’t. Okay.”

Scotty chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Tell Liesl goodnight for me,” Franco said, hanging up the phone.

He went upstairs to their bedroom. Elizabeth was still in the shower—or at least still had the water running to signify that she didn’t want to talk yet. He threw some functionally useless decorative pillows from the bed to the floor. He never had decorative pillows on his bed until Elizabeth was part of his life. She enriched every part of his existence, right down to the décor that surrounded him. He wanted to do the same for her.

He changed into a gray T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. While Elizabeth stayed in the bathroom, he got into bed and used Google to search for any information on Jeff Webber’s suicide. He found an article from a Denver based hospital about an unnamed doctor who had committed suicide by shooting himself in his car while on the hospital campus. He shook his head—certainly a doctor could have thought of a less painful, less messy way to die with a higher probability of success. Sometimes people jerked at the last minute in a self-shooting and wound up alive, but brain damaged.

When the water was turned off, he set his phone on the nightstand. He was propped on his pillows, leaning against the headboard when Elizabeth came out of the bathroom.

“There’s no hot water left,” she informed him. “I guess you figured that out,” she noted since he was already in bed.

“I’ll shower in the morning,” he shrugged. “How are you?”

“Stop asking me how I am!” Elizabeth snapped.

He nodded. “Okay.” He could sense that she was angry but knew that the anger wasn’t meant for him.

Elizabeth sat down on her side of the bed and took off her slippers. She took a small jar of moisturizer and dabbed a little on her face, rubbing it in thoroughly. Without a word, she laid down on her side, facing the wall instead of her husband. She pulled the covers over her shoulders.

Since she had clearly indicated she didn’t want to talk, Franco turned out the light and adjusted his pillows. He looked toward the ceiling through the darkness, wondering what he could do for Elizabeth and what he should do. Her posturing told him she didn’t wanted to isolate herself.

Elizabeth stared at the wall, wide awake. She wished she could sleep. She wished she could turn over and hold her husband. But she couldn’t right now. All the ways Jeff had let her down were running through her mind. He sent her away and washed his hands of her. She wasn’t _that_ bad of a child. All she really wanted was his attention and for him to love her more than he loved work and women.

She had visions in her mind of her parents fighting. She heard her mother call Jeff a lying, cheating sonofabitch. Her mother threatened to divorce him numerous times. He would talk her into staying and promise not to stray again. He always did. Her mother had always been stupid enough to believe him, or at least to not hold him to his promises or herself to her threats.

After learning that Hayden was her sister, she wondered if she had any other unknown siblings out in the world. She imagined there were at least a few strippers in Nevada that he had had affairs with and maybe she had a younger brother in Sarajevo. He had cheated on each of his wives, as far as she knew.

Jeff Webber was more known in polite society for his work in Sarajevo. He was the good doctor who sacrificed his time and put himself in danger to help people. She bitterly thought he was trying to serve penance to make up for a lifetime of hurting people. 

She took a deep, shaky breath. Her mother had stayed with Jeff time and again. If she considered her own life, she could pinpoint Jeff as the largest contributing factor to most of the mistakes she had made with men. She wanted to be loved so badly, but she had no idea what love was. She had no idea that she could be treated well consistently. She didn’t know to expect that, to demand that—not until Franco came into her life. They had problems, especially early in their relationship. His background was significantly more dysfunctional than her own. They had traveled a learning curve together to find their way to trust each other.

She couldn’t imagine staying with Franco if he was anything like Jeff. Or anything like the other men she had married, for that matter.

Then Elizabeth wondered if it was her fault that Jeff was absent, not because of whatever he held against her. Maybe he thought it was her place to reach out to him. Should she have kept trying? Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with guilt, thinking she could have and should have made more of an effort to keep contact with her parents. The guilt sat in her throat like a burning flame. She felt tears streaming from her eyes as she remained silent in her misery.

She thought about a time when she was about five years old. Her dad was supposed to come home from work early to take her to a local fair. He had taken Sarah the day before. He never liked dealing with both girls at once. He told her it was her special day and that she could ride some of the rides and play games and eat cotton candy.

She remembered standing at the window in their dining room, watching the driveway, waiting for his car to show up. She could clearly see the design of the wallpaper and the burgundy curtains that she peeked through.

Jeff didn’t come home early. Eventually it got dark. He didn’t call. Her mother told her he had probably had an emergency at work and promised that he would take her to the fair another day.

It was all a lie. Jeff came home smelling of cigarettes and alcohol. The fair left two days later. He said “next year” but never kept his promise. She never got her special day. Sarah teased her with the toy she had brought home. Elizabeth was heartbroken.

He was her father. There had to have been something she loved about him. There must have been some good times. Her mind searched for some memory that wasn’t tainted. She simply couldn’t find it.

She knew Franco wasn’t asleep. His breath was too shallow. She knew he was lying awake worrying about her. God, how she loved him for it. He had taken her moodiness and snappy responses in stride. Franco always let her be herself, even when he wanted to fix things. “Will you take me to the fair?” she asked.

“Of course, I will,” he answered immediately. “I didn’t know the fair was in town.”

Elizabeth rolled over and sobbed into her husband’s shoulder, clinging to him. “It’s not. I just want you to take me when it is.”

Franco rubbed her back gently, “I promise,” he told her. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“I just want to go to the fair.”

“They have funnel cakes,” he told her, trying to cheer her up. “Corn dogs, cotton candy, chicken on a stick, fried Twinkies, fried Oreos. I think they fry everything.”

“Will you win me a stuffed animal?”

“If I can,” he said. “I’ll try. But you know, those games are rigged. So, if I can’t win one, I’ll buy you the best, softest, cuddliest stuffed animal that your heart desires.”

“My heart desires you,” Elizabeth said, sniffing through her tears. “Don’t leave me.”

“Never.”

“Don’t cheat on me.”

“I would never, ever cheat on you.” He was still disgusted over what happened with Kim—that thing he had no memory of, just that sick, guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t come home drunk.”

“I’ve never done that. I never will.” He could tell that everything she was asking of him was related to some way Jeff had hurt her. “I would never want the boys to see me drunk.”

“My dad wasn’t a good person,” Elizabeth admitted. “He was a liar, a serial cheater, an absentee, promise-breaking father, and he had an ego that made him think people should fall at the ground to worship him because he was The Jeff Webber, savior of the world.” She shuttered. “I’ve inflicted father figures with those qualities on my kids.”

“Your boys are doing great,” Franco reminded her. “They’re good kids. They’re all talented and smart and most of all, they’re all kind, compassionate, and unselfish. You’ve done a great job as a mother. No one has ever loved their kids more than you. They adore you. They want to be like you. Wherever Jeff Webber failed as a parent, you made up for his failures tenfold with your own boys.”

“Your glasses are totally rose-colored when you look at me.”

“Hey, I had horrible parental figures too. I know you’re a good mom. You’re the anti-Betsy or anti-Heather.”

“Well, you’re the anti-Jeff.”

“I will take that as a glowing compliment from you.”

“I love you,”

“I love you more.”

She rested her head on his chest and breathed in his scent. He was home to her. He was security. He was trust.

Franco could tell she had relaxed. “Are we going to tell the boys?”

She sighed. “I’ll tell them he died and he’s donating his body to science so there won’t be a funeral.”

“Is that true?”

“I don’t know. But it sounds like a good reason to not have to go to Denver. Life will go on as we know it. It’s not going to affect the boys much. They didn’t know him. He could have died twenty years ago. It’s all the same.”

“What can I do for you?” Franco asked.

“I’m holding you to taking me to the fair.”

“Absolutely. Just the two of us, right.”

“We won’t tell the kids,” she giggled.

“Our little secret,” he agreed. “I’m definitely getting a funnel cake.”

* * *

The next day, Elizabeth was working at the nurses’ hub when a florist brought in a delivery for her. It was a bouquet of fresh wildflowers and a large light brown stuffed bunny with a neon green bow. She touched the rabbit’s ear. It was exceptionally soft. It almost felt like a cashmere sweater.

She read the card. “It’s a few months until the fair. I promise to try to win you a stuffed animal. But this guy is going to make you feel better until then.”

“What’s with the rabbit?” Amy Driscoll asked, bounding into the hub.

“My wonderful husband being himself.”

“Is it a special day?” Amy asked.

Elizabeth looked directly at Amy. “Every day with Franco is special.”

Elizabeth took the bunny and gave it a hug. She set the flowers on one side of her computer station and the bunny on the other. When Franco was finished with his current patient, she was going to march into the art therapy room and kiss him. She smiled. Her life had improved so much in the last few years. And she didn’t need Jeff Webber to make that happen. She could thank him for teaching her, or forcing her, to become independent. She could thank him for showing her everything that was undesirable in a husband and father. She finally had her life exactly where she wanted and needed to be. And Jeff Webber finally had a good excuse for ignoring her existence.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please let me know. I'm feeling very down right now. Sometimes writing fan fiction is unfulfilling because there's so little feedback despite the number of hits. Thanks!


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